I have scabs in places I didn’t know could bleed
or There’s more to this story than I’ll ever be able to tell
We’re past the half-marathon. We’re past the free GOO sticking to my shoes. We’re past the point where I believe Matt is going to reel me in. We’re past the point where this is just a Sunday stroll. We’re into the second half of the longest run of my life. The 26 miles for 26 years run. That one. The family and cheering section is going to be around mile 16 and it can’t come soon enough. I want a Powergel refill. I want a familiar face. I want. I want. It’s all about me and has been for more than two hours...

The leisurely stroll is gone. My pace has quickened to something in the 8:30 to 8:45 per mile range as I start to make up bigger chunks of that slow start. I’m settling for smaller holes when I dart between people. I’m bumping elbows first and apologizing after. My manners and my good sense have left me, but the throng of people urges me on. I hear “Go Dave.” I hear “Go Pumpkin Dave!” I hear “Go Pumpkin Man.” Gone are the thoughts of I’ll be your pumpkin man, (wink, wink). Now we’re running. Somewhere near 16, after I pass a flaming liberal (no, I’m serious, he was in costume- there were flames), I locate Matt’s parents and they point at my family. I turn and look and hold up my hand with my one remaining gel. My sister holds a Harvest Bar in one hand and the food that isn’t, the PowerGel, the most amazing stuff, in the other. I dart toward her and snatch away the gel. “Thanks, I love you,” I shout. (Those three little words will make several more appearances, usually directed at strangers or whole groups of strangers, further supporting a theory I have that long distance running and drunkenness are similar).

I plod on and soon reach Hain’s Point. Hain’s point is not very spectator friendly. A few kayakers with whistles cheer us on, but for only the second time that day the atmosphere is more run and less parade. The atmosphere is also more wind. I had anticipated both of these developments on Hain’s point. I had trained on the point so I’d be ready. Hain’s point was to be my bitch. In fact I believe the conversation in my head went a lot like this-
“This is my territory. Bring it Hain’s Point, you’re my bitch.” (Hey, EXCUSE me, I’m drunk on running here.)

I’m through 17 and making my way toward mile 18 taking full advantage of the point, when my knee seizes up. I break stride in agony. My face contorts and I slump to the side of the course. I walk for far longer than I’d like, my eyes surely telling the saddest story I’ve ever known. This could be it, I think. Hain’s point got me again. I’m walking along, assessing the pain and the 8 or so miles to go. Maybe Matt will catch me after all. I reach down and tighten the IT band compression wrap I’ve been wearing above my knee. I cinch it tight and take a deep breath before I try to break into a run. The first few steps go ok and the next thing I know I’m cruising again. I pass the medical tent and look at the downed runner being tended. I find a couple and tuck in behind them, desperately trying to feed off their pain. I stay relatively close until I have to move over to let an ambulance through. Even without the couple I’m still moving at an ok pace and the knee seems to be performing up to par. I pass the 20 mile mark. I’m down to a 10k. I can do a 10k I think both conciously and unconciously. I climb a hill and hit the highway bridge rearing to go. I’m on what feels like the longest bridge of my life. The sun feels brutal, but I’m passing people with ease. Later, I’ll find out that I was in the midst of an 8:05 mile, my fastest of the day. The crowd and the other runners were eating it up too; they seemed to be cheering extra hard. I was starting to sense the end, but a hill slowed my pace back into the 9 minutes per mile range.

As we dipped into Crystal City and passed the Pentagon, I unknowingly found the wall. Feeling desperate I told a woman in a green Cystic Fibrosis T-shirt that she was my best friend. My best friend left me 45 seconds later when my knee seized again. I walked for what seemed like ages. Several specators almost begged, “Come on Dave. You’re almost there.”

At that moment I hated my shirt. Whose stupid idea was it to put my name on it? I knew I was almost there, they could get out here and run if it was so easy. “Thanks,” I gasped. I couldn’t take it for long though and started to run again. I wound down and around until I could see the Pentagon again. I left the Pentagon behind, but found another spot for my knee to violently seize up. I walked along a bridge as people passed me by. I didn’t care anymore. Even if I walked this would all be over soon anyway. I had less than 2 miles to go. At least they’d let me finish before closing the course. I walked along for what felt like quite a while, before finding the energy to run again. I don’t know what spurred me, maybe it was the 25 mile marker, maybe it was my watch glaring around the 3 hour and 50 minute mark, but something got me going again and this time there would be no stopping. Once I got to the 25 mile marker, I’d spent 22 minutes covering the last 2 miles and I had about 10 minutes to get to the finish to meet my goal. Only none of that was clear to me then. I just knew that the end was close and it was time to go. So I went. I was a blur or it was a blur. Blurs were definitely present.
I don’t know how long I went before my knee started crying out again. I grimaced. I groaned. I begged my knee. “I promise if you get me through this, I’ll give you massages. I’ll take you to the doctor. Whatever you want!” The knee seemed to consider the proposition, or at least it didn’t seize up on me again. Perhaps it was distracted by the cramp starting to creep into the opposite quadricep. I recognized cheering. When I looked up, there was my mom, but I had no energy to see anyone else or the giant sign they held that said RUN DMA. I just pounded on. My knee screamed in a painful duet with my now attention-starved quad.
The chant in my head, the prayer to my knee and my quad, the desperate plea to my body soon became the harsh words on my lips, “COME ON!”

“COME ON!”
“COME ON!”
Every breath and every step,
“COME ON!”
“COME ON!”

My head was down. My face tight with exhaustion.
“COME ON!”
“COME ON!”
I passed runner after runner and had the vague feeling that they either thought I was talking to them or they thought I was mad. I really didn’t care.
“COME ON!”
“COME ON!”

I charged up the final hill, I’m told in a sprint. I passed a few more,but watched as one young shirtless fellow exploded forward the last 25 meters.

“COME on...”

I crossed the finish line. intact. ecstatic. exhausted.

See